Sharon Schulze (19 page)

Kneeling beside her, he flipped up the hem of her gown only enough to expose her short boots. “It appears to me that one of us—” he slipped off one boot and set it aside, then reached for the other one “—is vastly overdressed.”

“Is that so?” Alys asked lazily, leaning back on her elbow, her gaze fixed upon his face. “What shall you do to remedy that, milord?”

He cradled her bare feet in his hands and began to knead them gently. “I could take off the rest of my clothes,” he offered, sending her a teasing grin. He raised one hand to the knotted cord at the waist of his braes, his only remaining garment, and quirked one eyebrow questioningly.

“That would be lovely.” Her answering smile dared him to make good his threat. Her gaze, as it swept over him from head to toe, was as a tangible a caress as if she’d stroked that same path with her hands. “Would you like me to help?”

Did she know what it did to him, to share this lighthearted play with her? ’Twas exciting and enticing, of that there was no doubt, yet the fact was, he also simply enjoyed the ease with which they bantered back and forth.

Alys had the power to hold the world at bay, to give him these moments when only they two existed. ’Twas a gift, one he would treasure always.

A gift he hoped he’d be allowed to keep.

“First let me help you, milady.” He stretched out alongside her and reached for the lacings of her gown. Since he’d loosened them earlier, ’twas a simple matter to untie them completely. “Shall I?”

Her eyes huge in the flickering torchlight, Alys sat up at his urging and let him undo her belt. When he slipped it from her waist, he noticed how heavy it felt, definitely more so than he’d expect for such a dainty piece.

He removed the embroidered leather pouch from the thin, finely worked leather band and hefted it in his hand. “By the rood, ’tis a wonder you could stand upright. What do you have in here?” he asked dryly. “Rocks?”

“Only one,” she murmured. Her face grew pink beneath his puzzled look. He started to loosen the draw-string, but she snatched the pouch from him before he got it open. She jerked at the strings, reached inside and pulled out a jagged stone. “My chastity belt, you called it.” Taking his hand, she placed the rock in his palm and closed his fingers about it.

“You kept it?” He didn’t bother to hide his amazement.

“You gave it to me,” she mumbled, glancing away. ’Twas a piece of rock. It had no value.

Except, apparently, to Alys.

Touched, he reached for the pouch, carefully slid the stone back in and handed it to her. “I am honored,” he told her.

Not meeting his gaze, she took the pouch and set it carefully next to the blanket, then sat silently staring down at her lap.

“Do you think we need that rock to serve its original purpose again?” he asked gently.

She shook her head, but the pink tint of her cheeks deepened.

“Alys, if you’re uncomfortable about this, I’ll bring you back to the cavern.” He took her hand and tugged it lightly, but she still refused to look at him. “You know Rafe would protect you from me, if that’s what you want. He’s quite capable of doing so despite his wounds, I assure you.” He tugged on her hand again. “Knowing Rafe, he’d probably enjoy it.”

She glanced up at him, slipping her hand free to sweep her hair away from her face. “All I’m uncomfortable about—” she reached out and cradled his cheek in her hand “—is the fact that you’re more likely to need something to protect
you
from
me
.” She rose up onto her knees and edged closer to him. “Ladies are not supposed to feel these things,” she told him earnestly. “Or even if they do, they definitely should not behave this way.”

“Behave what way?” he couldn’t resist asking. Hope rose in his heart that she wasn’t about to leave him quite yet.

“Like a ravenous beast,” she muttered, looking away again.

He made her ravenous? He fought back a laugh of sheer joy.

As long as she wasn’t talking about food…

“I’d be happy to help satisfy your hunger.” ’Twas a challenge to keep an innocent expression on his face, when what he truly wanted was to tumble her onto the blanket and satisfy them both. “What is it, exactly, that you hunger for?”

Her eyes narrowed just before she slipped her hand
into the hair at his nape and gave a sharp tug. “Will you make me say it?” she wailed. Her jaw clenched, she sat back on her heels, her fingers still woven tightly in his hair.

“I will,” he said. “You’ve no reason to be shy with me, Alys. Not about anything at all.”

“Very well.” Her expression serious, she wriggled closer to him, her breasts brushing against his chest, stopping when their lips were nearly touching. “I want you, Padrig ap Huw, more than I ought to want anything.”

T
he words had scarcely left Alys’s lips before Padrig wrapped her tightly in his arms and tumbled her down onto the blanket. “I wasn’t sure you’d say it,” he whispered into her hair. “Hell, I wasn’t certain ’twas what you meant.”

“If ’twas food I’d wanted, I wouldn’t have been shy about asking for it,” she pointed out dryly. She nuzzled his chest, savoring the feel of his hair-covered skin tickling her lips. “This is more to my taste.”

To her disappointment, he drew back from her, meeting her frown with a shake of his head. “As much as I want you to touch me, sweeting, I doubt I smell too appetizing.”

In truth, she found the scent of him—leather, a trace of sandalwood and the sweat of a healthy man—very appealing. Chuckling, she told him, “You smell like a man, not like those perfumed coxcombs my father surrounds himself with.” She rested her cheek against his skin. “I like it.”

He shook his head. “You’re a brave woman to get this close,” he said with a smile.

He didn’t appear to mind having her cuddled so near, she noted, wriggling closer.

Suddenly he stood and, closing his hands about her waist, lifted her up as though she weighed nothing. She grabbed his brawny arms for balance, marveling at the sleek strength of him as he set her on her feet.

His lean torso was corded with muscle and lightly dusted with soft, dark hair. The skin of his chest and arms was as tanned as his face, no doubt the result of all the training he did out in the sun, garbed in naught but boots and braes.

She’d seen him on the practice field many times, watched and admired him long before they ever met.

The true Padrig, the man she was coming to know, was far more exciting, more interesting, than she could ever have envisioned in her relatively innocent daydreams.

Even her lively imagination wasn’t that clever.

Padrig knelt at her feet and, grasping the hem of her gown in one hand, began to lift the material, bit by torturous bit.

Alys watched Padrig’s face, noting how his eyes darkened and his breathing quickened, as did hers, as he teased them both.

As more of her legs were exposed, he smoothed his warm, rough hand in the gown’s wake, trailing up from foot to calf, knee to thigh. He paused with the fabric hovering just below her hips, running his fingers caressingly along the inside of her thigh. “Shall I continue, milady?” he asked, his voice deeper than usual.

Her heart pounded so loud, ’twas a miracle she could hear him. Her whole being was focused upon Padrig’s touch. He knelt so close to her, she could feel his breath on her skin. That, combined with the teasing caress of
his callused fingers against her sensitive flesh, made it nigh impossible for her to remain on her feet.

Yet she could not tell him to stop, not now!

Drawing a deep breath, she placed her hands upon his broad shoulders to hold herself steady. “Please, go on,” she murmured.

The look he sent her made her glad she’d braced herself. The heated challenge in his eyes sent a tremor of anticipation through her, anticipation that was borne out tenfold when he raised her skirts to her waist and pressed his lips to the quivering flesh of her belly.

“Padrig,” she moaned. She tightened her fingers on his shoulders, her nails biting into his smooth skin.

He shoved aside the fabric of her gown and stroked his hands up over her hips. He followed the same path with his mouth, tracing his tongue over her hipbones and up to her navel, then skimming along the curve of her belly.

He pressed a kiss to the sensitive flesh just above the curls at the juncture of her thighs, his hands clasped tight about her waist, her gown crumpled above them.

Kissing her one more time, he eased his hold, moved back a bit and let her gown drop down over his arms. “Let’s get into the pool,” he said, his voice rough. He tried to slip his arms from under her skirts and got the fabric tangled round them. Laughing, he gathered the material in both hands and swept it up her body, pausing only to ease the sleeve he’d cut carefully over her right arm.

He left her wearing her linen shift, made of cloth so sheer her nipples showed through it. “You cannot trust me to do this right,” he said with a laugh. “I’m too easily distracted by you.”

He led her to the water, slid his hands into the wide neckline of her shift and slipped it off her shoulders, letting it slither down her body to pool at her feet. She stepped out of it and closer to Padrig, reaching for the tie at the waist of his braes.

He stopped her from going further, catching her hand in his and shifting it to his chest. “If you only touch me above the waist, love, I
might
be able to control myself,” he told her, chuckling. “If you do otherwise, I fear
I’ll
turn into a ravening beast.” He bent his head and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “Right now, ’tis my most ardent wish to become acquainted with yours.”

If he kept up with what he’d started, her “beast” just might surprise him with the depth of her passion. It took more control than she knew she had within her to stand passively before him while he worked his magic upon her oh-so-willing body.

His touch held a combination of reverence and urgency, making her entire being hum with pleasure barely suppressed. He scattered kisses over her face, her neck and throat, all the while holding his hands clasped loosely around her waist.

Her hair hung nearly to her hips, the disheveled mass veiling her breasts. Padrig slowly skimmed his mouth down over her throat and along her collarbone, nudging aside the tangled tresses and sending shivers of reaction skittering down her spine to settle deep within her belly. All the while, his fingertips drifted over her ribs in a tantalizing caress, but he never moved his hands from about her middle.

In no time she was ready to scream with frustration. The more he touched her, the more bold her desire be
came, until she was ready to grab his hands and move them to where she ached most to be touched.

She restrained herself from doing so, barely, by reminding herself that anticipation, as well as desire, could be savored.

Perhaps ’twas time to make
him
experience a bit of anticipation, as well.

Smiling, she brought both hands to rest upon his chest and began to stroke them lightly over the firm muscles banding his torso. Her fingers drew teasing patterns, following the thin line of dark hair down his stomach, moving ever-closer to his waist, then darting up to twine in the mass of curls covering his nipples.

He sucked in his stomach, which made her smile, and grabbed her hands to still them, which did not.

She wriggled her fingers, eliciting a stern look. He raised her hands from his chest and twined his fingers with hers. “You may touch me, but I may not do the same to you?” she asked. “Is that fair? My hands never strayed past your waist.”

“They did enough mischief where they were,” he ground out. He rested his forehead against hers and closed his eyes for a moment. She tried to free her hands, but he held them in a firm grip and would not release her.

When he opened his eyes, they glowed with an unexpected humor. He let go of her hands and, grinning, untied his braes and stepped out of them. Before she had a chance to enjoy the sight, he scooped her up in his arms, stepped over the edge of the pool, and sat down, immersing them both in the warm water.

Alys shrieked, then clamped her mouth shut as the water closed over her head. She popped up, sputtering
and swiping frantically at the lengths of wet hair trailing over her face and tangled round her arms. “Have you gone mad?” she demanded.

Padrig snaked out his arm and hauled her into his lap, crushing his mouth to hers as she’d wished he would do earlier. She stopped squirming at once and returned the kiss full measure.

Gasping, she pulled away from him just far enough to see his face. “No more games,” she said, voice shaking. “I vow you’ll drive
me
mad with them.”

“No more,” he agreed. He gathered her hair away from her face and neck. Wrapping it about his fist, he tilted her head back slightly and stared into her eyes. “Is this what you wanted, Alys?” He dipped his head and trailed his mouth down her throat to the tops of her breasts and back again, the rasp of his whiskers on her tender skin blazing a trail of heat in their path. “The two of us together, like this?”

A bolt of heat tore through her at the look in his eyes. Darkened to a deep indigo, they captivated her with their intensity.

“Aye, ’tis what I want,” she agreed.

“I’ve made you no promises,” he said. “We’ve spoken no vows—”

She caught hold of his face between her hands. “No more words, Padrig.” Smiling, she brought her mouth to his for a kiss that laid bare her desire. “Let our bodies speak instead.”

His mind a passion-hazed blur, Padrig sank into Alys’s kiss, did as she’d ordered and let his body show her all the feelings he’d no words to express.

The unusual mixture of bold sensuality and enchant
ing sweetness that was Alys fired his passion far beyond his experience. Now that she could let her hands wander wherever she wished, she let them linger on his neck, chest and stomach. She teased him nigh beyond endurance, dipping her fingertips just below the water—just below his waist—to tempt and tease so near to his aching manhood.

Her flesh was warm and soft, slick with water, made for his touch. She twisted round in his lap to face him and stole his breath away. Her breasts glistened in the flickering torch light, beads of water trickling down her creamy flesh to disappear into the pool.

He bent his head and pressed a kiss to the shoulder he’d had to manhandle earlier in the day, lingering there as he savored the expression on Alys’s face.

Passion glowed in her eyes as she watched him, their amber depths alight with desire. And mischief. She shifted delicately upon his lap, the movement brushing her hip against his aching flesh.

Temptation was a game two could play, he reminded himself silently. She might not want words, but he could let his actions speak for him instead.

He kissed her slowly, using tongue and teeth to savor her taste. Once her eyelids drifted shut, he gently cupped her breasts in his hands, his fingers plucking at her nipples in rhythm with his kisses.

Her eyes opened wide and she moaned against his lips, breaking away to gasp for breath. “Dear God, what are you doing to me?” she asked, her voice shaking and weak.

“Savoring you.” He bumped his nose against hers, smoothed his hands up her arms and shoulders to frame her face. “Cherishing you.” Her gaze met his, the heat
in her eyes softening to a golden glow. “Loving you,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the soft spot below her ear.

“Love me now,” she whispered. “Let me love you.” Her expression solemn, she covered his hands with hers and swept them back along the path they’d followed, settling on her breasts. “Make me yours.”

“Gladly, sweeting.” His heart thundered in his chest as, hands braced upon his shoulders, she shifted in his lap to straddle his legs. “Easy, love. There’s no hurry,” he said with a low laugh. “Let’s take our time. I don’t want to hurt you.”

He clasped her about the waist and slid her back a bit, then slipped one hand slowly along her leg from foot to thigh. This time he let his hand wander higher, let his fingers linger on the soft petals of her femininity.

He swallowed her gasp of surprise with an unhurried kiss, his tongue dueling with hers at a leisurely pace despite her efforts to make him move more swiftly.

It took all his control not to do just that, to give in to his body’s demand that he take her now, make her his without further delay.

He refused to be rushed, however, by Alys or by his own unrelenting desire for her. He wanted her poised on the precipice of satisfaction before they joined their bodies, so that when they did, she would have no other thought in her mind but of the pleasure they created together.

Evidently realizing he would not give in, Alys set about to tempt him as he had been teasing her. Slanting her mouth on his, she deepened their kiss, using tongue and teeth, as he had taught her, he reminded himself, to build the tension between them higher still.

As he continued to caress her intimately, she brought
her own hands into play. Smoothing her fingers lightly down the middle of his torso, she didn’t stop at his waist, but boldly slid her hand lower.

She paused with her open hand cupped loosely about his manhood, almost touching him. Her fingers flexed, stirring the water about him in a subtle caress. His hips flexed in reaction, seeking her touch, but she moved her hand away slightly, keeping him from what he sought.

She tore her mouth free of his and, gasping, raised her other hand to cradle his jaw. “Look at me, Padrig,” she said, the unruffled demand in her voice at odds with the tension spiraling round them.

His breathing uneven, he met her gaze. Her face was flushed, her body trembled and her eyes blazed with a golden fire.

“You are mine, as I am yours.” She closed her fingers about him and slipped forward on his legs until his manhood was just touching the haven it sought.

He covered her hand with his. “Aye, Alys.” Their gazes joined, he slipped into the warmth of her body.
“Always.”

Her gaze fixed upon his, Alys moaned at the feel of Padrig sliding into her. She couldn’t have looked away at that moment, for he held her captivated as much by what she saw reflected in his eyes as what his body made her feel. ’Twas anticipation, intense pleasure and an irresistible sense of claiming and being claimed, all swirled together into a maelstrom that threatened to overwhelm her.

She clung to his upper arms, savoring the flex of his muscles beneath her fingers, enjoying the sensation of barely restrained power emanating from him.

“Almost there, love,” he murmured. Clasping his hands about her waist, he drew her down upon his body as his hips shifted upward until they were truly joined.

She’d expected ’twould hurt more, but the twinge of pain swiftly faded as Padrig helped her to move upon him, with him. She felt as though her heart might burst from her chest, it pounded so swiftly, and ’twas all she could do to breathe.